Heartland by John Mackay sampler

if that were so? And especially, why ponder the great choices of
faith and life when there was no choice at all?
When he was younger, he would sometimes be dismissive of
the committed faith of the old folk around him. He had been the
first of his family to attend university, although Kenny came soon
after and his sister Christine would follow. My, my, the university!
What store his parents laid in the wisdom to be received there
and the opportunities it would open.
His studies had made him disdainful of the certainties with
which the previous generations had lived their lives. Now he
wasn’t so sure. His forebears had lived life in the raw, dependent
upon the seasons and exposed to the relentless realities of a hard
life. For so long in their youth, his grandfather’s generation had
walked daily with death and horror. What arrogance was it that
made him think his learning from books was superior to theirs?
He was never sure whether Neilie was bothered with such
preoccupations, despite having been so close to eternity. Probably
not. ‘Get up to that bar,’ was his philosophy.
Nearly twenty years on, Iain was home again, watching the
deceptive lap of the water. How peaceful it seemed and yet how
remorseless it could be.
From his vantage point he could see the headland of the bay
facing onto open sea. It was said that a baby had been thrown
into the sea from there, a newborn boy. Iain had heard the story
often from his mother.
‘The poor child was washed up on the shore, all wrapped up.
Oh, it must have been terrible. His mother couldn’t have been in
her right mind to do something like that.’
‘Who was she?’
‘No one knows. Some said she wasn’t from the village, that he’d
been put in the sea further up the coast, but my mother remembers
them searching up on the cliffs around here. The old captain who
found him told my grandmother that the child hadn’t been in the
water long enough to have come from somewhere else. It must
have been a local girl.’
‘And they never found out who?’
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